Reawakened from the woods
Dry leaves as hairs grew
Some stuck to the face
That was made like ripe fruit
The agony spoke in serenity
Is night so long or the cave
The mystic for the union long
The palm that guarded the lips
The drums were made of magic
Holy utterance began the rite
Religiosity of the darkened walls
Chords in voice of the symphony
Small words like revelations
Music had become a long howl
Still rules the goddess in black
One miracle when lips uneasy
Words flew like winged objects
How chants break down spirit
The trance was not yet over
Final beats as it shook the earth
11/3/2009
(On Schiller mit Sarah Brightman-The smile)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem